


Not So Little Brother

by fluffy_waffle



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Werewolves, Belly Kink, Chubby Derek Hale, Established Relationship, Feeder Stiles Stilinski, Hand Feeding, Laura Hale deserves better than being stuck in this fic but oh well, M/M, Teasing, Weight Gain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-16 05:28:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28576755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fluffy_waffle/pseuds/fluffy_waffle
Summary: Laura suspects that her brother and his husband have an … unconventional relationship. And, really, she doesn’t give a damn as long as Derek is happy. Just don’t ask her to stay at theirs for dinner.(feeder Stiles, fat!Derek, and a sister who definitely doesn’t want to know any of the details)
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 6
Kudos: 95





	Not So Little Brother

**Author's Note:**

> this contains kinky weight gain stuff, so if you aren’t here for that, here is your warning to run and never look back
> 
> if you are here for the kink, here's your warning that parts of this are weirdly sentimental because I got all up in my feelings about Laura and Derek and the Hale fire

Derek had always been on the heavier side, even as a kid, and that had always made Laura want to protect him. It took a few fistfights and screaming matches, but soon enough the other kids learned to stay away from Derek Hale or his big sister would come after them, and few of them were brave enough to risk that. 

Derek had bulked up in high school, adding a decent amount of muscle to his chubby frame, and made a decent football player. But it was a long time now since he’d counted himself as any kind of athlete, although he’d happily kept eating like one. 

So, really, maybe the current state of affairs wasn't a _huge_ surprise. 

“Sorry, he’s upstairs,” Stiles said, offering her a cup of coffee and a plate of brownies, insisting she made herself at home in the house that used to be hers and was now his. “He’ll just be a minute.”

Laura smiled politely, taking one of the brownies and biting into it. It was heavenly. Homemade, of course — Stiles was an excellent baker. That was probably part of the problem.

She liked Stiles well enough. He was good for her brother, and really, that was all she wanted for Derek. To be happy and cared for and with someone who adored him. 

It was possible Stiles took care of him a little _too_ well, though.

When Derek finally made it down the stairs, he entered the room belly-first, like always. It was by far his most prominent feature these days, so round and heavy that it was affecting his posture, causing him to lean back a little to compensate for the weight of it on his front. He lowered himself onto the couch next to Stiles with a little grunt, spreading his legs to allow his gut to sit between them. 

“It’s great to have you back in town,” he told Laura, as Stiles handed him a mug of coffee and set the entire plate of brownies on his knee. “Beacon Hills isn’t the same without you.”

“Nowhere feels like home the way this place does,” she admitted, and he gave a flash of that old smile, warm and genuine. Sure, it looked a little different on him these days, his once-sharp features blurred by extra fat, his cheeks round and chubby, his chin comfortably doubled. But his smile prompted one of her own, just as it always used to.

Derek took a couple of brownies from the plate and tackled them two at a time, one balanced on top of the other, biting through both of them. 

“Love what you’ve done with the place,” Laura said, looking around admiringly at her childhood home, almost unrecognizable these days. After years of the old house standing in ruin, gutted by the fire, Derek and Stiles had taken it upon themselves to renovate the place and, to Laura’s surprise, had moved back in. She knew she couldn’t have lived here again herself — the memories were too bleak, too oppressive. But she was glad that Derek didn’t feel the same way, that he had managed to transform it into a place full of love and laughter again. 

“All credit for the interior design goes to Stiles,” Derek said, slipping a thick arm around his husband’s shoulders. “He’s the artist here.”

“You’re too kind.” Stiles gave a theatrical little bow before looking up at Derek again, his eyes very soft. “He’s the one who was so determined to get it done, though. It’s been a hell of a project, and we never would’ve got this far without him.”

Stiles reached out to brush a crumb of chocolate from Derek’s beard, and the moment felt incredibly intimate in a way Laura couldn’t quite explain. She felt her cheeks heating and took a gulp of coffee. 

Derek offered her another brownie, and Stiles passed the plate along to her. Why not? They were damned good, perfectly fudgy, rich with butter and chocolate. She selected one that looked like it might have cherries in it, and set the plate on the coffee table between them. 

As she and Stiles began discussing the flooring he’d chosen for the kitchen — “It cost far too much but it’s beautiful, just wait til you see it” — she noticed Derek leaning forwards. Or, trying to. It was clearly some effort; the mound of his belly was in the way, sitting heavy between his thick thighs, unyielding as he tried to bend over it. With a little grunt, he shuffled his huge frame towards the edge of the couch, and tried leaning forwards again. 

In a moment of pure embarrassment, Laura realized that Stiles was watching Derek struggle, his gaze warm and fond and — something else, maybe? 

(Not hungry. She did not want to admit that the look he was giving her brother was _hungry_.) 

“Here you go, big guy.” Stiles grabbed the plate of brownies from the coffee table and handed them to Derek, and if she wasn’t mistaken, gave his massive belly a gentle caress as he did so.

_Jesus._

Laura was so flustered that she took another too-big gulp of coffee, choked, and began hacking into her elbow. 

Slightly weird, don't-think-too-hard-about-this moments aside, she spent a lovely afternoon at the house, marveling at all the improvements they’d made to it while still keeping the spirit of the old place alive, and enjoying a much needed catch up with Derek and his husband. She was struck by how _well_ Derek seemed, because it still surprised her sometimes, even after all these years, that he was no longer the lost, bitter teenager he’d been. 

Every time his face broke into that charming smile, or he let out one of those rare barking laughs, she remembered with a pang how much she’d missed them in those long years after the fire. She knew that, more than anyone or anything, she had Stiles to thank for their return. 

When it was finally time for her to leave, Derek stood up to see her off. It took him a couple of tries to haul himself up off the couch, rocking to gain some momentum and using the armrest as leverage. She wondered if she should offer him a hand, or if that was somehow part of his and Stiles’s _thing_ and that would make it weird. 

She stepped in for a hug, and it was a little awkward with his bulk; she couldn’t get as close as she expected, or put her arms all the way around him like she used to. This drove home how much he’d gained since the last time she’d paid a visit to Beacon Hills. She should visit more often. 

“I meant what I said about the house,” she told him quietly. “It looks amazing. I think Mom would’ve liked it.”

He smiled, his eyes crinkling a little in the corners. “Thanks. I think she would, too.”

She hugged Stiles as well, who felt especially small and bony after Derek. “You’ll take good care of him, won’t you?” she said, half joking. But there was something so tender about the way Stiles glanced up at his husband that she knew, with utter certainty, that he would, that it was never something she needed to worry about.

They waved her off from the doorway, Derek filling most of the available space. He stood behind his husband, his broad figure dwarfing the smaller man, one hand on Stiles’s slim waist. 

_He’s happy, finally,_ she thought as she drove away. They both were. That was what mattered.

*

“Do you think she knows?” Stiles asked, perched in what little remained of Derek’s lap, holding half a brownie in midair.

Derek looked exasperated. “If she didn’t before, she does now. So much for playing it cool. Didn’t we talk about _not making stuff weird_ when my _sister_ is in the room?”

“Me?” Stiles shoved the rest of the brownie into his husband’s waiting mouth, looking indignant. 

Through a mouthful of fudgy chocolate, Derek said, “When I couldn’t reach the table. You were basically panting at me. You were giving me bedroom-eyes. You _stroked my belly,_ for christ’s sake.” 

“Why were you trying to lean over in the first place?” Stiles accused. “You couldn’t just ask me to pass it to you? Goddamn _tease,_ Derek.” 

“I was just a fat guy who couldn’t reach over his own gut. You were the one who made it kinky.”

Stiles pouted at him, cupping one of Derek’s fleshy pecs, a generous round handful that rested happily on top of his belly. “Okay,” he acknowledged, “maybe that’s partly true. But you’re acting like she’s never eaten a meal with you before.”

Derek looked put out. “I have some sense of decency, Stiles. I don’t stuff myself stupid around people who aren’t you.” He accepted the next brownie Stiles pushed between his lips, emitting a groan as the soft, sugary perfection hit his tongue.

“The last time she came for dinner, you popped a button at the table,” Stiles reminded him. “She’s probably scarred for life.”

“You bullied me into wearing those pants,” Derek grumbled. “ _And_ you served me all that pasta on purpose.”

Stiles laughed. “Blame me all you want, big guy. You’re the one who gained all this weight the last few years.” He took hold of the ring of flab that circled under Derek’s chest and round to his back, giving it a gentle wobble, enjoying how the fat rippled. “She was always gonna notice that something was up.”

Derek sighed. “We should apologize.”

Stiles passed him a glass of milk to wash down all that chocolate. “How about I make her a cheesecake?” he suggested.

“Oh yeah, Stiles, that would send a _great_ message.”

Stiles grinned wolfishly. “Alright then. How about I make _you_ a cheesecake, seeing as those brownies didn’t last long.” He patted Derek’s round belly where it sat between them, jiggling it where it was plush and soft at the bottom, rubbing up and down his thick sides. “I think you’ve got some room.”

“Jesus, Stiles,” Derek groused, his eyes soft. 

Stiles leapt up, pausing to let Derek swat his ass, then skipped off to the kitchen.


End file.
